A large, unshakable hand slithers around your waist followed by a thick forearm that tugs you from the creep trying to hit you up.

You shiver as your father’s friend, Clive Gilford, age 45, warns, “Keep looking.” There’s a glint in his piercing grey eyes that scares the creep away.

Yanking you around, Clive jerks your chin. “So, I reject your proposal and you come here?” It’s an elitist club with many dangerous activities. But more importantly, his usual spot. “You reckless princess.”